Interesting point at the end of this opbmusic piece about the plight of Oregon’s music venues during a pandemic: when venues can re-open, there could be more emphasis on prime slots for local musicians.
I dropped Killing Eve and I don’t listen to Taylor Swift, but this story spinning out of this week’s episode is pretty spectacular.
“Why hasn’t Margo Timmins ever sung a duet with Natalie Merchant?” I’ve wondered while reacquainting myself with Cowboy Junkies in recent months. She has, and I am transported.
If you felt something reading Dave Grohl’s paean to singing “at the top of my lungs with people I may never see again […] to celebrate and share the tangible, communal power of music” (the Bruce Springsteen anecdote is especially on-point), here’s my reminder to pick up Sarah Pinsker’s A Song for a New Day.
The marquee from that last night Before still had my name on it. Of all the changes and incongruities and instances of past overlying present, I’d never once considered that one. It made perfect sense. The last show before we collectively gave up on trusting each other in proximity, captured in time. A memorial plaque for who we used to be.
(That’s the Pinsker, not the Grohl.)
As a result of this from earlier about music venues, I sat down and used Resistbot to send the following letter to Rep. Earl Blumenaur, Sen. Merkley, and Sen. Wyden, as well as to The Oregonian.
The recent rise of the Independent Venue Coalition of Oregon, a group of small and independent music venues in the state whose existence is under threat due to the pandemic economy, is a trenchant reminder that “small business” must be considered, collectively, as a kind of quasi-industry which should be considered as “too big to fail” as we rush to consider, for example, the airline, automotive, or banking industries. It’s not enough to bail out large corporations, or, worse, allow large corporations to partake of relief and emergency funds intended for small businesses. We must rescue and protect our independent businesses, the ones which do so much of the work to make our neighborhoods, our towns, our cities — our lives — all the more worth it.
Willamette Week has a great, sobering look at local music venues during the pandemic shutdown, who have banded together to lobby for greater financial support and protections, quoting Jim Brunberg (“owner of Mississippi Studios, Polaris Hall and Revolution Hall, and the founder” of the lobbying group) on historical parallels.
“I’ve been going down rabbit holes of research,” says Brunberg. “The year after the [Spanish] flu, what was the music scene like in 1919? Music took a huge hit because people didn’t want to gather.”
There really needs to be an all-out and concerted push generally to recognize “small, indepenent business” as a quasi-industry collectively considered “too big too fail” every bit as much as airlines and banks.
Link Log Roundup for May 2, 2020
In this edition: city streets, pricing by algorithm, barbershops, NASA’s ventilator, brutal numbers, old movies, NPCs, llamas, excess deaths, mariachis, coffee history, Muggletonians, air pollution, and the political conversation.
Marian Call suggested “lying on the floor or wherever and listening to an album straight thru, beginning to end, with your whole attention” so as part of my ongoing pandemic musical regression retrospective, I listened to all of The Helio Sequence’s Love and Distance while sitting on the couch. Their earlier stuff, before this one, perplexingly is available neither on Apple Music nor Bandcamp, but fortunately before I was smart enough to rescue my copies from my old MacBook Pro before I wiped bricked it, and so now as I sit and blog I’ve rewound back to Accelerated Slow-Motion Cinema and am working my way forward. If I recall, my first experience of The Helio Sequence was when they played a High Violets show and what I remember is that two guys sure managed to envelop every inch of space into which their sound could travel.
Well, okay, if not for Samantha Bee tonight I might have managed to go my entire life without even learning that Joe Scarborough wrote a positively horrid song about 9/11, let alone hearing it.
I’m ignoring the news about John Prine.
According to something I just saw on Instagram, your lockdown or quarantine song is whatever was #1 on your 12th birthday. Oh, dear.
It’s an illusion that the road is long and there’s no shoulder to lean on.
—Olivia Cornell & the Precious, “Black Ice”
Currently listening to Filthy Things by Olivia Cornell & the Precious, the former of which I knew in college and I should really dig up my audio tape of The Tom Vick Trio playing SUNY Purchase’s coffeehouse.
Who was the smartass writer on tonight’s Supergirl who thought to start a eulogy with the words, “Jeremiah was a—”?
The other day the workers behind my house in the next lot were listening to something that sounded like Mexican oompahpah and that’s how I learned about banda and it actually was a pretty good escape and now I want banda recommendations?